Good Night, Sleep Tight
by bertiebert
Summary: There is something uniquely special about nighttime and the tenderness that comes with it. Multiple pairings. Discontinued.
1. Kolybelʹnaya Part 1

_**This fic is going to be kind of unique. It's going to be a series of oneshots regarding nighttime and lullabies with my favorite nations and pairings. The first oneshot was born from a random prompt (below) and then the idea to expand to other pairings popped into my mind the other night. There will be several pairings such as Franada, AmeCan, Giripan, TurEgy, DenNor, and possibly NethCan. I may add or take away pairings so you'll just have to look out for which ones I post!**_

_**A little headcanon background: In my mind, America is from the south. Probably Georgia or Kentucky or West Virginia. Somewhere there are small, rural towns. This may be because I myself am from the south, but I'm not going to change my headcanon just because someone doesn't agree with it.**_

**_Review to tell me your thoughts!_**

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><p><em><strong>Pairing:<strong>__ Russia x America  
><em>_**Prompt:**__ good night_

_**Kolybelʹnaya**_

A sharp, piercing cry woke Alfred and Ivan at—they checked the clock—2:06 AM. Ivan kissed Alfred on the forehead and murmured, "Go back to sleep. I'll get him."

But Alfred never did fall back asleep. He listened intently to the baby monitor on the nightstand and could just barely hear Ivan's deep timbre as he checked on Zasha. The child was colicky at night, unlike his twin sister Tabitha who slept soundly. Hearing Ivan begin to sing a Russian lullaby, Alfred rolled out of bed and onto his feet. He carded a hand through his hair as he padded down the hall. Standing by the window, his lover held their son and looked devastatingly handsome as always. There was nowhere Alfred would have rather been. He didn't care if he was exhausted and often covered in bodily fluids because having a partner and two healthy children was all he could have asked for.

Zasha was quiet when Alfred peeked in, staring up at his _otets_ with wide blue eyes. The twins resembled Alfred almost perfectly. It had been easy to decide who would donate the sperm until they learned radiation had rendered Ivan sterile after being exposed to it for so many years. Alfred had been the only option after that, but he'd done it very willingly. Ivan loved the children as if they were his own, and never actually cared that Alfred was the biological father. But as Ivan sang, the words rolling off his tongue smoothly, Alfred found he was falling in love with the Russian all over again.

Their son yawned adorably, resting his head against Ivan's broad shoulder. Ivan patted him on the back, swaying gently as he sang. Zasha was asleep within moments, snuffling softly and burrowing his face in Ivan's neck. The Russian had quickly learned to relax whenever Zasha did get close to his neck as it was the child's favorite place to snuggle into. Ivan had always been sensitive around his neck considering there were far too many scars there to count and many of them still stung on occasion. His scarf had done its job of covering them, but he couldn't wear it all the time. But, just like his _otets,_ Zasha loved the scarf and just adored cuddling in close whenever Ivan wore it. Such times were rare in the summer, but he would still get it out to let Zasha hold and play with.

Ivan turned around when Alfred entered the room, he'd developed sharp hearing during the Cold War and it had never truly faded. Alfred smiled, stroking his fingertips down Zasha's back before kissing his forehead.

"I thought you went back to sleep," Ivan whispered after Alfred took Zasha from him.

"I couldn't, knowing Zasha was crying." Alfred carefully laid their son in his crib, covering him with his blanket. "Plus, I just love seeing you interact with them and hearing you sing. You have a beautiful voice."

Circling Alfred's waist with an arm, Ivan kissed his lover sweetly. "_Spasibo_. And I like seeing you with them, hearing you sing that…southern lullaby."

""Bushel and A Peck" or "Swing Low"?" Alfred asked, nestling his head against Ivan's shoulder much like Zasha had done minutes earlier.

"Both, actually. I love the way you sing them." Russia kissed Alfred's head, closing his eyes and just relaxing for a moment. "We should probably go back to bed, _da?_ If he wakes up again soon, we might as well get as much sleep as possible."

Alfred let Ivan lead him back to their bedroom, close to purring when the Russian gave him a back rub to help him get back to sleep. There were few things that Alfred loved more than a back rub from his lover. It wasn't long before Alfred was nuzzling into Ivan's arms and Ivan was snoring lightly. Parenthood was proving difficult, but if it meant there were smiles to greet them in the morning then it was all worth it.

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><p><strong>Translations (RUS - ENG):<strong>

_Otets_ - Father  
><em>Spasibo - <em>Thank you  
><em>Da<em> - Yes

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><p>As a child, my mom used to sing both of these songs to me. Albeit slower and softer as they were meant to be lullabies. They worked, and even to this day I just love them. They may not be specifically southern, but that is how I identify them considering my family is from the south. Enjoy!<p>

"Bushel and A Peck" - (add youtube(dot)com in front of slash) /watch?v=XNjv1WDGxt8  
>"Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" - (add youtube(dot)com in front of slash) watch?v=Thz1zDAytzU


	2. Kolybelʹnaya  Part 2

_**Apologies to anyone who is waiting on a new chapter with a different pairing, but I just had to continue the first one. This chapter occurs a different night, in case of any confusion.**_

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><p>There wasn't much that could be done, but Ivan wished he could do something to help his child. Zasha coughed weakly against Ivan's neck, the sound wet and crackling. Ivan just patted his son's back gently, rocking him around the living room. Tabitha was asleep, as she almost always was, and Alfred was dead to the world in his and Ivan's bed. Ivan had an unexplainable attachment to Zasha and could never stay away from his for long. If he was sick, Ivan was right there with him and never left his side.<p>

Walking to the window, Ivan drew Zasha's attention to the moon outside. It was summer in Colorado, warm and pleasant during the day but cool and fresh at night. There was little that Ivan didn't love about their cabin in Denver. When Zasha leaned forward shakily, resting his tiny hand on the chilly window, Ivan studied his son. The round cheeks flushed from fever, dark honey-colored hair sticking up with sweat, and stormy blue eyes half closed in exhaustion. Ivan was wide awake, as always when someone in the house was ill, and wanted nothing more than to make Zasha well again.

"Are you thirsty, _vozlyublennyĭ?"_ Ivan asked, smoothing Zasha's hair away from his sticky forehead.

The way Zasha swallowed with difficulty coupled with the sound his mouth made when he opened it to breath heavily, propelled Ivan towards the kitchen. Filling a bottle with cool water, Ivan shifted Zasha to rest in the crook of his arm. The child eagerly suckled on the nipple, eyes closing drowsily. Ivan quietly slipped outside onto the porch and settled in a rocking chair. It was just cool enough to be refreshing but not enough to chill the infant in Ivan's arms. He rocked Zasha, cooing at him and singing to him in his throaty native tongue. On occasion, he took the bottle from Zasha's mouth and burped him gently before letting him reclaim the soft nipple. He drank greedily, wanting more than anything to ingest the liquid.

"Easy now, Zasha. Don't make yourself sick," Ivan crooned, keeping up his soothing rocking motion.

When the child slowed, blinking up at his _otets_ with tired blue eyes, Ivan smiled and brushed his thumb over the soft, heated cheek.

"That's it, _moya lyubovʹ. _Slowly." Ivan even got a tiny smile from his son when he brought him up closer to his face.

A tiny, warm hand touched Ivan's nose, drawing a grin from the man. He kissed the tiny fingers, smiling and closing his eyes as they slowly fell away. Then gazing down at his child, Ivan stroked his hand down the slightly pudgy belly.

"Sleep well, _moĭ rebenok."_

Zasha dozed fitfully, but Ivan was just glad he was finally asleep. He laid on the couch in the living room, the television flickering light across the room with Zasha resting against his chest. It wasn't long before he too fell asleep, but his hands rested on his son's back protectively.

Shuffling drowsily into the living room, Alfred cradled Tabitha against his bare chest. She suckled on her fist, still groggy, but peered up at her father anyway. Alfred pushed hair out of his face as he stopped in the doorway. Ivan was asleep on the couch, Zasha resting peacefully on his broad chest. Smiling, Alfred moved closer to brush Ivan's hair off his forehead.

"Ivan, sweetie, wake up," Alfred murmured, rubbing his lover's arm.

He carded his fingers through Ivan's silky hair, grinning when Ivan's deep eyes blinked open tiredly to peer up at him.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," the American crooned, brushing his knuckle against Ivan's jaw. "How's Zasha doing?"

"Better. He was very feverish last night, but he seems to be doing alright now," Ivan explained as he sat up. Zasha whimpered, burying his face against Ivan's neck.

Tabitha made a soft noise to gain her fathers' attention and reached for Ivan. He smiled at her, shifting Zasha to one arm and taking Tabitha from Alfred. The Russian pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads before letting Alfred take Zasha.

"Come here, sweetheart. How's daddy's little guy doing, hm? You're lookin' better," Alfred cooed, kissing Zasha's cheek and stroking his wispy blonde hair.

Ivan grinned when Tabitha's tiny hands touched his face and she giggled. She wrapped her arms as far as they could go around Ivan's neck, hugging her _otets_ and nuzzling against Ivan's shoulder. He chuckled, rubbing her back and smiling up at Alfred. They may not have been a very normal family, but they loved each other. Zasha and Tabitha were healthy and their lives were seemingly perfect. Nothing could have made it better.


	3. Those Who Love

**Right, here is chapter 3. Netherlands/Canada this time because they're just so cute together. Hope you like it!**

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><p><em><strong>Those Who Love<strong>_

The night was warm and peaceful, and the water below sparkled in the city lights. Nothing could have made that moment any better when Matthew was handed a cup of tea and his lover settled down behind him. Lars's strong arms wrapped around his waist, holding him close and tight, and a soft kiss was pressed to his neck. The Dutchman released Matthew momentarily to light his pipe and take a drag off of it. Matthew rested his head against Lars's chest, holding his mug close to his body and occasionally sipping from it.

"Amsterdam is very beautiful at night," he commented, his body snuggled close to Lars's broad chest.

"Mmm, it is," came the soft reply. A long-fingered hand carded through his hair and slightly chapped lips pressed against his forehead. "But not as beautiful as you."

Matthew grinned and tried to hide his giggle in Lars's collarbone, but Lars chuckled along with him. They settled down, breathing slow and even. Lars occasionally puffed on his pipe, but always blew the smoke away from Matthew. He looked up at the stars, one hand stroking Matthew's arm and the other cradling his pipe.

"Make a wish, Matthew." He remarked as a particularly bright star twinkled at him.

Glancing down at his lover, Matthew had his eyes closed and a tiny smile pulled at his lips. A moment later, those indigo eyes blinked open and Matthew looked up at him. He smiled, kissing Lars on the jaw.

"Did you make a wish?" Matthew asked, sipping his tea.

"I already have everything I could ever wish for. There's nothing else that I want in this world besides you," Lars crooned, stroking Matthew's hair back behind his ear.

A blush spread across Matthew's nose and cheekbones, highlighting the tiniest scattering of freckles there. Lars smiled and tilted Matthew's chin up to kiss his flushed lips tenderly. Matthew leaned in, drunk on Lars's expert kisses, and moved to straddle his lover.

"Baby," Lars whispered, stroking Matthew's hair. He could see how exhausted the Canadian was, with dark circles and bags under his eyes. "You're tired. We can have sex another night. Let's just sleep tonight, alright?"

Sniffing tiredly, Matthew blinked at Lars and nodded. They both stood, Lars snuffing out his pipe and Matthew draining his mug of tea. Before Matthew could make it into the bedroom, Lars scooped him up. With an undignified squeak, Matthew held onto Lars's broad shoulders tightly. The Dutchman just chuckled and carried Matthew into the bedroom. He laid him gently on the bed, smoothing his hair back.

"Lie down, I'll be right back," Lars soothed, cupping his hand around Matthew's cheek before pulling away.

Matthew curled up underneath the warm sheets and comforter, relaxing and dozing slightly. He jumped when the bed dipped, but was quickly hushed and pulled into strong, comforting arms. Lars kissed him on the forehead, running a hand down Matthew's back.

"Go back to sleep,_ liefje._ I love you." Lars's deep timbre almost lulled Matthew back to sleep instantly.

Indigo eyes blinked slowly, unfocused and glassy with exhaustion and lack of prescription lenses aiding them, before closing completely. Matthew heard Lars sighed softly and felt him snuggle closer. The familiar smell of Amsterdam at night swirled into the room as the wind picked up, but neither man cared as they dozed peacefully beside one another. There was little that could have made the couple more content in that moment.

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><p><em><strong>Translations:<strong>_  
><em>liefje - <em>sweetheart (Dutch)


End file.
